


We Had It All (But Maybe We Still Do)

by 1032am



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, M/M, exes au, i think the angst is mild but i cant really tell anymore, its like medium spicy angst, truth or drink au, with RECONCILIATION
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1032am/pseuds/1032am
Summary: Being dragged to a film studio by Kevin Day was never on Neil Josten's agenda. Whatalsowasn't on his agenda was ever seeing Andrew Minyard again.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 17
Kudos: 234





	We Had It All (But Maybe We Still Do)

For once, the weather was in perfect cooperation with Neil’s mood. Overcast skies meant that Neil wouldn’t have to glare at the sun for being too bright when he was trying to be angry. As if his bad mood wasn’t enough, the seatbelt in the passenger seat of Kevin’s car was digging into his neck uncomfortably, making him even _more_ irritable. He kicks his feet up onto the dash despite Kevin’s displeased grumble, and fiddles with the window controls anxiously. _Up, down, up up, down down down-_

“Jesus _fuck,_ Neil, _stop_ ,” Kevin hisses, rolling up Neil’s window with his own control and switching on the window locks. Neil grumbles, crossing his arms irritably and glaring out the window. He feels a little like a seven year old being forced to go to the dentist, but he can’t find it in himself to care all that much. 

“You’re going to make us late if you keep pussying out at the yellow lights,” Neil complains, and Kevin groans. He ignores Kevin’s comment about Neil’s own driving, and continues with, “You’re the one who signed me the fuck up for this for stupid ass PR reasons, the least you can do is get us there on time.”

“And _you’re_ being insufferable,” Kevin responds, annoyance prominent in his voice. Neil rolls his eyes, even though Kevin is focusing on the road and can’t see. 

They’re quiet for a while after that, Kevin continuing to drive them to the recording studio and Neil continuing to let his bad mood eat away at him. He knows logically he could’ve declined this at any time, could’ve told Kevin to fuck right off with his stupid ideas, but part of him deep down knew this was a good thing to do. A good way to get over what happened a year ago, to move on and get the _fuck_ over himself. 

“So, are you finally going to take the racquets down after this?” Kevin asks after a considerable amount of silence, one hand on the wheel, other hand cradling his head where his elbow is perched against the window. They’re stopped at yet another red light, and Neil just wants this all to be _over_ already. 

“Why would I?’ Neil responds, sinking lower in the passenger seat at Kevin’s tone.

“You know, if this makes you realize you and Andrew don’t connect anymore, you should at least put them in storage instead of on display. He’s never going to ask for it back, and I can see you moping every time you look at them,” Kevin says, flicking the windshield wipers on with his pinky as it starts to _rain_

_slides down the window panes in sheets, soft pitter-patter of the drops drowned out just enough by Andrew’s music. They’d put it on to make clearing a spot for the racquets to hang a little more enjoyable, though Neil didn’t care as long as he was with Andrew._

_It was Neil’s idea to hang their Palmetto State Exy racquets on the apartment wall, and despite Andrew’s grumbling about it being stereotypical and annoying, he was secretly as pleased with the display as Neil. He pulls over a chair from the breakfast nook, stepping onto it so he can measure the wall to get started on installing the hardware fixtures. Neil hovers off to the side, in case Andrew slips or loses his balance._

_Soon enough, the sound of drilling stops, and they’re pulling the racquets out of the gear closet in the hallway and dusting them off to hang up. Neil’s goes up first, and then Andrew’s is crossing over to form an X on the wall. Andrew rolls his eyes at the blatant display of their professions, but Neil thinks it’s sweet- sweet that Andrew agreed to the idea at all, sweet that they now had something in the apartment that was theirs._

“Are you going in to record or are you going to keep brooding here like some teen protagonist?” Kevin says, snapping Neil out of his thoughts. He leans into the car from where he’s just gotten out, squinting so rain doesn’t get in his eyes. Neil huffs, still stubbornly sitting with his arms crossed.

“Excuse _me_ if I’m not fucking excited about going inside,” is all Neil provides, before uncrossing his arms and opening the passenger side door moodily. He steps out into the rain, shoving his jacket’s hood over his head and slamming the door closed behind him. 

Neil follows Kevin into the studio, trailing behind him at a slower pace. He’s on edge, just waiting to round a corner to see Andrew standing there. He isn’t actually sure if Andrew is even _here_ yet- he knows the goalkeeper had to fly back to Denver for this, and Neil can’t tamp down the worry he feels _for_ Andrew, wondering how he handled the flight by himself. He forcibly pushes the thought away, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he makes it around the corner to the main studio and only the producers and director are there.

They go through the formalities of getting introduced, Neil feeling his bad mood lift just a little at the prospect of getting to drink in a little while and with how nice the staff are. Kevin sticks around, not wanting to just leave Neil alone while waiting for Andrew, and Neil won’t say it outloud but he appreciates it. He’s more stressed over this whole ordeal than he previously realized, leg bouncing as he sits and waits for Andrew to arrive. It’s the waiting that's the worst- not having a concrete time to expect Andrew, not knowing when he’s going to walk into the studio and round the corner. Every slam of the outside door has Neil tensing up, just expecting to see Andrew in the next second. 

It goes on like this for the next 45 minutes, and Neil can see even the producers starting to get antsy. Their call time was 20 minutes ago, and Neil would warn the producers that this is a normal occurrence -that Andrew is definitely late on _purpose_ , normally is if he doesn’t think whatever requires him to be there is something he wants to put energy into, or if he’s nervous about it- but then the door slamming shut is echoing through the studio and Neil just _knows._ He knows it's going to be Andrew who walks around the corner next, even if he can’t pinpoint why he’s so certain. 

Sure enough, it _is_ Andrew, and Neil can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t look different on the outside- not really, except for the way his hair is a little longer than he usually keeps it, and he’s not wearing his usual black shirt. The jeans and boots are the same, but he’s wearing a green shirt that manages to bring out the hazel in his eyes, and Neil immediately knows he’s different. He’s not the same Andrew that Neil spent hours upon hours with on the roof in their college years, nor is he the Andrew he spent hours curled up with in bed when they went pro, shut out from the world around them. Andrew’s face is neutrally blank, and Neil finds that for once in his life he can’t see under the mask and figure out how Andrew is actually feeling right now. Neil is taken aback- not only because he doesn’t know what Andrew is feeling, and never once has that been an issue, but because Andrew’s actually wearing a _color_. A short sleeved shirt that _isn’t_ black, and one that highlights his eye color (and by _God_ are his eyes pretty today) is something that would’ve never happened a year ago, especially not in a place where Andrew wasn’t comfortable. 

Neil is snapped out of his thoughts by Kevin getting up from the chair next to him, the other striker patting his shoulder in comfort. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says, and Neil swallows roughly, nodding.

Neil watches Kevin pass Andrew, head ducking to tell him something. Neil, for all his weird survival skills, has always been good at reading lips, and so despite the fact he can’t _hear_ what Kevin says to Andrew, he knows exactly what is said that makes Andrew tense up minutely. 

_He never took down the racquets, you know_. 

Neil would be mad at Kevin blatantly telling Andrew that fact, if it wasn’t for the way Andrew’s eyes shoot to him, wide and searching. Neil knows he’s doing the exact same thing Neil just did- taking him in, cataloging the differences from a year ago, thinking about how this can possibly go. He watches as Andrew does his own version of a gasp, his own version of a _holy fuck_ reaction, and Neil barely avoids smirking despite his anxiety. Neil knows what he looks like- he picked out his outfit specifically to set Andrew off, to try and make it seem like he was onto bigger and better things since the break up. Whether he actually _was_ was not the issue- it was just important Andrew _thought_ so. 

“Minyard,” Neil acknowledges with a head nod, slipping off his chair that was off to the side to take his place in front of the camera. He feels a little like the Neil who upturned the water glass after the first time at Eden’s- just on the edge of dramatic, absolutely going for being as much of an inconvenience as possible. He makes himself comfortable in his designated chair, letting the stylists fuss over his hair and steadfastly not looking at Andrew for his reaction to him speaking. 

Soon enough Andrew is settling down across from him, and the director is walking over to explain to both of them how the video is going to go, how they’re expected to conduct it. It’s simple enough- ask any question that they’re curious about, either tell the truth in response or take a shot, and if the other person answers the question, the asker drinks instead. Neil takes in the bottles of alcohol lined up at the back of the table, noticing that Andrew’s favorite whiskey is among them. He wonders if Andrew requested it, or if it’s just a coincidence. The director gives them both a smile, suggesting a quick _make small talk while we get fully set up!_ and Neil can see Andrew barely hold back a scoff. 

In the end, it’s Neil who speaks first again. 

“So, did you ever give the Maserati the tune-up it needed?” he asks, smirk threatening to slip out. He watches Andrew’s eyes squint slightly, as if trying to figure out the underlying question there, no doubt remembering _why_ his car needed it in the first place. It’s not like it was _Neil’s_ fault the car started acting up after the time they-

“I haven’t had time,” Andrew responds casually, voice neutrally even. He opens his mouth to say more, but the director is calling out that they’re going to start in the next ten seconds, so he closes his mouth and adjusts his position to look as bored as possible. Neil almost- _almost_ laughs.

The introduction of the video, which consists of Neil and Andrew introducing themselves and explaining that _yes,_ _they are indeed exes_ , goes by easily. They only have to film it once, and Andrew is being surprisingly cooperative for something that Neil knows he very clearly does not want to be doing. Not that Neil wants to be doing this either, but he’s always been the more agreeable out of the two ( _partially_ a lie, but he definitely puts on a good front). 

Neil reaches for the whiskey after a moment, tipping it in Andrew’s direction as if to ask _this one?_ Andrew nods, and Neil pours them both shots. “Just like old times,” Neil comments offhandedly, and Andrew raises an eyebrow in response, no doubt remembering hours spent on the roof during college in that moment. 

Neil knows he gets the first question, so he takes a moment to think of what to ask. He doesn’t want to start off with something heavy off the bat- that would just cause Andrew to shut down and make this entire filming process unusable, thus pissing Kevin off, considering this is supposed to be for PR after all. Neil smiles once he thinks of the question, and nods to the director that he’s ready to start. The director makes them do rock, paper, scissors- as if they _don’t_ know who’s asking first, and Andrew looks so thoroughly unimpressed when Neil actually beats him, Neil actually laughs. He sits up straighter in the chair, and brings his interlocked hands to rest on top of the table.

“O _ooh_ , to start off, I have one people are definitely gonna wanna know,” Neil says, smiling widely so his eyes scrunch up at the corners. “Andrew Minyard, starting goalkeeper for the San Francisco Diablos, what _is_ your favorite ice cream flavor?”

Andrew scoffs, shaking his head slightly in amusement despite the tension still obviously in the room. “You know that one.” It’s not quite an answer, but Neil thinks it's the best he’s going to get at this point, so he takes it as one. 

“Caramel cone,” Neil says with confidence as he takes the shot in front of him, smiling wider when Andrew nods, edge of a smile on his own face. Neil thinks about the chocolate stain still on his couch, courtesy of _a_ _bad day_

_wasn’t as common as often anymore, but they still happened from time to time between the both of them. Neil knew the moment he woke up for his morning run that Andrew wasn’t completely with it, that he wouldn’t tolerate casual touch today in any capacity, nor most conversation. Neil cataloged it, got up silently even though Andrew was already awake, and got ready. He made sure to grab his wallet before leaving, so he could stop at the convenience store near the apartment on the way back._

_Neil runs, mind seeming to want to run with him, wondering why today of all days was a bad one for Andrew. He couldn’t think of any anniversaries, and nothing had happened last night to cause it, so Neil just chalks it up to one of those days where your brain just doesn’t cooperate. He pushes himself a little harder, picking up the pace just so he could get home a little sooner than usual, even with the stop at the store._

_He’s pushing open the front door a half hour later, sweaty and uncomfortable in his clothes. He finds Andrew in the living room, surprisingly enough, wrapped up in the throw blanket that normally rests on the back of the couch. Neil places the bag on the coffee table in front of Andrew, moving to the kitchen to grab a spoon for him before going off to shower. He makes sure their fingers don’t brush when he hands it over, and doesn’t miss the small, grateful smile Andrew sends his way as he reaches into the plastic bag for the ice cream container._

_Neil is joining Andrew on the couch ten minutes later, hair still wet but not dripping anymore. Andrew’s curled up even tighter in the time he’s been gone, steadily working his way through the caramel cone pint. Neil doesn’t ask if he’s alright- he knows Andrew isn’t, and he also knows that the man would tell him anything he wanted to talk about, knowing Neil would listen. They sit in companionable silence for the next three hours, Andrew only getting up once to put the ice cream in the freezer, TV a low hum of early morning cooking shows._

_It was a bad day today, but not forever, and Neil knows Andrew will talk when he’s ready._

Andrew watches Neil grimace at the burn of the whiskey as it goes down, clearing his throat and jerking his head in Andrew’s direction as if telling him to go on. Andrew pours him another shot, watching Neil wipe his mouth with the back of his hand out of his periphery. 

“Neil, favorite hobby other than Exy?” Andrew asks, voice bored with the preliminary questions the director thinks are things the fans want to know. At least it’s giving him enough time to settle in, get used to being around Neil again and calm his racing heart every time Neil looks at him in a familiar way. He would lie and say he was unaffected if asked, but there was no way to lie to _himself_ over this. 

“Uhhh,” Neil stalls, and Andrew can see his mind working with which hobby to choose. He’s developed a few over the years of living like a real person, and Andrew wonders which one he’s going to pick. He doesn’t expect what comes out of the striker’s mouth next, though. “Oh! Helping at the children's hospital!”

Andrew freezes, taking the shot in front of him after a beat and swallowing roughly. “You still _help_

_was always needed at the Denver children’s hospital, and Andrew and Neil had started volunteering over the winter as a way to pass time on the weekends. Their publicist said it was good for PR, but Andrew didn’t really give a fuck about that- all he really wanted to do was make kids feel better in the ways he knew how and was able to._

_It’s a sunny day when they decide to make an appearance again, and Andrew can’t tamp down the warmth he feels when Neil crouches down to be eye level with some of the smaller kids, answering any and all questions they have. They’re wearing their jerseys this time, so a lot of the older kids who watch sports are excited to see them and Andrew sits at one of the tables with a bunch of them to talk about what it’s like to be a pro._

_Him and Neil switch off between the older and younger kids throughout the day, reading stories to the younger ones and playing games with the older ones. They duck out a half hour before visiting hours are over, and Andrew reaches for Neil’s hand as they walk to the car. Neil sends him a megawatt smile at the display, knowing it’s a rare one, and swings their hands gently between them._

_Being around the kids always managed to put Andrew in a good mood, and he’s infinitely grateful they had the idea to volunteer in the first place._

Neil hums, fidgeting with his shot glass on the table and managing to not spill any alcohol in the process. He cocks his head to the side and asks, “What’s the last fancy, _non-Exy_ related place you ate dinner at?” He feels the distinction is important here, yet he can’t pinpoint why. 

“Hakkasan,” Andrew responds without missing a beat, watching as Neil takes the full shot in front of him. “It’s a Cantonese place in San Francisco.”

Neil hums in appreciation, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was hoping for more information there, like if Andrew went _with_ anyone, but he’s unsurprised to find he didn’t get any. “You always did _like_

_it?” Neil asks, spinning around to show off his outfit. Andrew hums, hands coming up to rest on Neil’s waist as he steps closer._

_“It’s nice,” he says simply, pulling Neil in for a quick kiss. Neil tries to deepen it, but Andrew pulls away before he can get too far. “We’ll be late,” he says by way of explanation, and Neil huffs._

_“So let's be late,” Neil says, edge of a whine in his voice. Andrew looks nice-_ better _than nice, and Neil wants to take time to fully appreciate it._  
  


_“Later,” Andrew responds, as if reading Neil’s mind._

_They manage to make it to the restaurant on time, despite Andrew indulging Neil in a few more kisses before they left. They reserved a VIP table in the back, courtesy of their status as professional athletes, and Andrew is actually_ excited _to see how the night pans out._

_“You don’t look so bad either, you know,” Andrew lilts playfully once they’ve been seated. It's casual, the way he says it, but there’s an underlying heat there, obvious to anyone paying close enough attention._

_Neil hums but it sounds empty, and Andrew looks up from his menu to find Neil’s gaze on his lap, face lit up by his phone screen. He frowns, head cocking to the side in confusion._

_“Everything alright?” he asks, because there's no way Neil would be on his phone right now if something wasn’t wrong- right? They were supposed to be having a nice dinner, a nice_ night _. The ring box in Andrew’s pocket digs uncomfortably into his thigh, but he ignores it._

_“Fine, the Wolverines are just losing against the Bolts again,” Neil responds, still staring at his phone. He looks up momentarily to give Andrew a sheepish smile, but then he’s back to scrolling through his stats page._

_The rest of the night continues like that- Andrew trying to talk to Neil and ultimately being brushed off for Exy of all things. He feels his annoyance starting to peak, and when the waitress comes over to ask if they want dessert, he assures her they’re fine and they’ll just take the check._

_“Are you mad at me or something?” Neil asks, confusion evident on his face. Like he has no idea he’s been ignoring Andrew all night in favor of sports._

_“We’re not doing this here,” Andrew says lowly, accepting the check a little more rudely than he usually would. He inserts his card into the holder, handing it back when the waitress comes around, and sits in complete silence at the table until she returns once again. Neil doesn’t try to ask him anything again._

_The ring box still digs uncomfortably into his thigh, and now it feels like more of an annoyance than excitement._

“You still just as obsessed with your precious little stickball game?” Andrew asks next, getting bored of the niceties, voice full of disdain and lip curling in annoyance as he pours a shot for Neil. He knows Neil isn’t going to answer- he knows Neil still _is_. It’s a question meant to instigate, and Andrew can tell Neil knows it. 

Neil scoffs, and if he’s shocked at the question he doesn’t show it. He takes the shot instead of answering out of pure spite alone- how _dare_ Andrew ask some shit like that, especially after how they ended. 

“Typical,” Andrew says when Neil doesn't respond. “ _You_ -

_don’t love me,” Andrew says simply, voice level but there's pain there, buried under his cool mask of indifference. They’re standing in the living room, still in their dinner clothes, and Andrew has the momentary thought that he hopes no one hears them if this devolves into yelling. “If you could marry Exy, you would.”_

_“And what? Like you want to marry me?” Neil says, voice full of more emotion than Andrew managed. He’s pissed, after an accusation like that, but so is Andrew under it all. “Don’t act like you do now of all times,” he spits, hand gesturing between them._

_“I did,” Andrew responds, voice dead to even his own ears. He watches as Neil takes a physical step back as if he’s been hit, no doubt by the use of past tense rather than present. Andrew reaches into his pocket, fingers rubbing over the smooth velvet of the ring box, and even though Neil whispers a soft “_ don’t _”, he pulls it out and tosses it Neil’s way._

_Neil catches it easily, staring at Andrew with wide eyes. “What?” is all he manages to get out, and Andrew almost laughs. Laughs, because this absurd- how they went from the beginning of this night to right now, practically yelling at each other over a sport._

_But it’s not just a sport, Andrew thinks. It’s their careers, and if Neil can’t separate that for even a fraction of a second to care about_ Andrew _as well- Andrew really doesn’t know what he’s doing here anymore. He supposes that thing about finding something endearing at first in a relationship only turning into an annoyance later on was true after all._

_Andrew doesn’t respond to Neil’s question, too tired to even try and explain himself now. It’s been going on too long- too long for Andrew to feel any sort of satisfaction over communicating anymore. All he does is shrug, turn around, and walk out the front door like they weren’t in the middle of something. He ignores Neil’s shout of his name from the open door, continuing to walk to the stairwell, knowing if he waited for the elevator he’d turn around and go back to the apartment in a heartbeat._

_Andrew makes his way to Kevin’s, not knowing where else to go, mind running a mile a minute. Their fight couldn’t possibly last long, right?_

“How’s your new team treating you?” Neil asks with a little more bite after the last question, filling up Andrew’s shot glass, full right to the top like he knows Andrew prefers. It makes him itchy, how he still remembers that, and he pushes the feeling away fiercely in favor of looking up at Andrew. 

“Fucking useless, all of them,” Andrew says to Neil’s surprise (Neil was positive he’d take the shot, just to be stubborn), looking to the camera as he speaks. “Especially you, Reed, I know you’re watching this trying to get dirt on my personal life. Fuck you,” he spits, and Neil barely suppresses the smile threatening to slip out. 

“Be nice to the guy,” Neil jokes, his smile finally breaking through despite the anger still simmering low in his gut at all the memories resurfacing. He takes the shot, swallowing quickly before saying, “At least he knows how to _run_

_away from him? Is that what you’re going to do?” Kevin yells, arms waving frantically in the space between them. “Running used to be Neil’s thing, I didn’t know it was yours,” he spits, and Andrew, for once in his life, feels like a scolded child in the face of Kevin._

_“What the fuck do you want me to do, Kevin? I’m not fucking going back there and I’m_ definitely _not staying here,” Andrew responds, voice raising slightly. This isn’t like him- emotional, reactive, off kilter enough to let how he feels bleed through every word he speaks._

_“Just-” Kevin starts, hand slicing the air in between them when he can’t find the words he’s looking for. He seems just as affected by Andrew’s emotions as Andrew does himself. “Go the fuck to bed,” he says after a moment, pointing to the couch before stalking off to his bedroom._

_Andrew complies, even though all he wants is a cigarette right now. He left his pack at the apartment when he stormed out a few days ago, and hasn’t left the apartment to buy a new one. He feels like a coward- feels like he’s hiding, and in some ways maybe he is. He only has some of his clothes, courtesy of Kevin going over to the apartment to get them, but he knows he’s eventually going to have to go over and get the rest of his things. Once his transfer request goes through, he’ll be gone, out of Denver and hopefully somewhere far._

_He tosses and turns, for once not able to fall asleep quickly. It’s around an hour after Kevin left him alone when Andrew hears Kevin’s phone ringing and the hushed whisper of Kevin picking up. Kevin’s room is close enough and his door cracked enough that Andrew can hear a murmur of someone talking on the other line, but he isn’t able to make out what they’re saying._

_“Neil-” he hears Kevin say, and then Andrew hears what can only be sobs coming from the line. He tenses up, staring at the ceiling as he listens to Neil cry from a room away. It hurts- it hurts more than anything to Andrew, and knowing it’s his fault Neil is crying makes_ him _want to cry. He holds himself together, despite the thought that Neil only cries when he physically can’t_ not _from getting hurt on the court._

_Andrew forces himself to tune out the conversation and actually go to bed, even if the sound of Neil sobbing will haunt him for months after._

“Do you swing for anyone else?” Andrew asks, elbow resting precariously on the tabletop, chin cradled in his palm. He looks a little bit too much like the cat who got the cream, and Neil is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Have you finally decided it wasn’t just me?”

Neil doesn’t mean to, but he smirks full out, picking up the shot glass as if to take it. “Can’t swing without a push, no?” he says instead, reveling in the slight widening of Andrew’s eyes. He knows no one else is going to be able to pick up on just _how_ shocked Andrew is from that statement alone, but Neil can. He’ll always be able to read Andrew like a book, even if he couldn’t earlier. 

Andrew hums, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy, and picks up his own shot glass. “Point proven,” he says, before tipping the contents into his _mouth-_

_to-mouth, lips pressed together in a sweaty kiss, bodies on the dance floor all around them, pressing them together. The person in front of him is blond, short, and thick, but green eyes look back at his own icy blues, pupils blown as Neil thinks that maybe, maybe this will be the time he gets over it. Green eyes will replace hazel in his memory, and he’ll long for a one-night stand that he’ll barely remember happening._

_It doesn’t take long for the guy to ask him back to his apartment, and where Neil would normally say no, he doesn’t this time. He’s not sure why- the guy isn't particularly interesting from what little they talked._

_It’s fine. The guy’s warm against him, solid, and Neil melts where he’d usually build up walls. It's unusual, out of character, and absolutely everything he needs right now. He can hear Kevin disapproving of him in his head, but he ignores it in favor of dipping in for another kiss, being jostled by everyone on the dance floor._

_He doesn’t ask for the guy’s name; not when they’re stumbling through his front door and certainly not when he’s ripping the condom packet open with his teeth._ ‘Unsafe _,_ ’ _he hears in his mind, but ignores it in favor of just getting on with it. The guy doesn’t ask about the racquets on the wall, or the multiple pictures of someone else lining his walls. Maybe he doesn’t even notice them- Neil is grateful. He makes sure to ask about any boundaries the guy might have, and when the guy tells him some, he catalogs it and makes sure he doesn’t do it._

_It’s just like he’d thought it would be. Hot and sweaty and meaningless and everything he needed, but when he opens his eyes he’s still met with green instead of hazel._

_It doesn't end up replacing the hazel in his mind, but it adds something else entirely. Neil doesn't know if he’ll ever get over it, but at least he can do_ this _now._

“Do they ask you yes or no?” Neil asks seriously, and Andrew wants to throw up with the emotion that overtakes him at the question.

Andrew takes the shot without thinking, coughing slightly when he swallows too quickly. He wishes he could take _another_ , just for the way Neil keeps looking at him. It’s like he can see everything Andrew’s been hiding this whole time- hiding since he left their apartment, their shared team, their _city_. Like Neil can see all the pain and hurt and self-destruction Andrew’s been going through the moment he walked out the door. 

Neil just looks at him, face more serious than it’s been this entire time, and Andrew wants to _scream_

_that echoes through the apartment is pained, but choked off. “Don’t scream now, I warned you not to touch me, didn’t I?” Andrew says, voice acidic as he grips the guy’s hand hard._

_He only now registers the blood leaking from the guy’s hand onto his own, and Andrew lets the guy’s hand go in favor of stepping backwards._

_The guy keeps going, though his screams turn into sobs sometime after Andrew lets him go, and Andrew treads towards the kitchen to grab a few rags. He throws one at the man, using the other to clean the blood from his own hand._

_“Blood stains wood, you know,” Andrew says, voice surprisingly detached considering the rapping in his chest._

_There’s a hiss and a rag thrown at his face, then heavy footsteps as the man stalks out of Andrew’s apartment, and Andrew just barely catches the sound of his voice before the door slams shut._

_“You’re fucking insane.”_

_Andrew blinks, plucks the dish towel off his head and settles his knees on the ground. He scrubs at the blood, soaking the towel and his fingers and suddenly he’s wiping so furiously a splinter snags at his palm, and fresh blood spills over the floor._

_He stares at it, blanched, and the blood dilutes before Andrew’s realizing it’s hot tears rolling down his face, sticking to his neck and jaw and spilling over the mixture of blood. He’s laughing now, curled up on his living room floor, dish towels soaked and his apartment door unlocked._

_It definitely stains._

“Has anyone found your neck fetish attractive yet?” Andrew asks to try and lighten the mood a little, still reeling from the last question and not sure if he’s doing a good job at hiding it.

Neil pauses, hand hesitating near the shot glass. He doesn’t take it, instead swallowing roughly and letting out a quick, “No.” He looks uncomfortable, and Andrew doesn’t want to do this anymore, not when Neil is looking like _that_. 

Andrew blinks, shocked Neil even bothered to answer at all, wondering what experience would have prompted _the reaction_

_that Neil gets is less than positive, and he backs away immediately._

_“Everything okay?” Neil asks, just checking in, always checking in. He never wanted any of his partners to be uncomfortable with something he did, and if they were he counted on them to tell him so he wouldn’t do it again. It’s something he made very clear before doing_ anything _with_ anyone _._

_“I just don’t really like that, can we try something else?” he says, and Neil nods immediately._

_“Yeah, of course,” Neil responds, head cocking to the side as he thinks about what to try next instead. “Can I sit in your lap?” he asks, and even though his partner looks exasperated at him asking (which just feels weird and wrong to Neil-) he nods anyway._

_The move into his lap seems long and awkward, and no matter how much Neil shifts to get comfortable, he can't quite make it work. His partner smiles blithely at him, like this is...._ something _and it brings this suffocated feeling in Neil to the surface. He leans in for a kiss anyway, being met in the middle, and settles into it minutely._

_Neil runs his hand through his partner’s hair, and finds it too soft through his fingers, not full of product like-_

_He pulls away once that thought threatens to break through, and is genuinely shocked when he opens his eyes and doesn’t find blond hair and hazel eyes staring back at him. He must make a face, because his partner is asking Neil if_ he’s _okay, and Neil finds that no, he’s really not. His partner reaches to cup his face, over his scars and Neil backs away quickly. He tries to apologize, but Neil shakes his head roughly, just hoping he gets the memo and stops talking. They don’t talk much after that, and his partner eventually goes home._

_They don’t stay together long after that._

They take a break after that, the director letting them know the next and last question is going to Neil. Andrew doesn’t mind- he needs the break after all of that, anyway. His mind is running a mile a minute, and he wants a cigarette, but he quit months ago. He vaguely wonders if Neil would be proud of him for that one, and then shakes his head to clear the thought. He gets up, stretching, and swaying slightly due to the alcohol in his system. That’s another thing he almost entirely gave up- alcohol. His brain threatens to tell him Neil _would_ be proud, and he huffs to himself. 

He’s changed a lot since moving, he realizes. More than he thought he would. Even though he had lived alone for a few years while waiting for Neil to make it to his team, he was never truly _alone_ like he is now. He’s always had Neil, or Kevin, or his family in close range. Not that he doesn’t still have his family or Kevin ( _or Neil,_ his mind tries to suggest after all of this, and he pushes it away fiercely), but they aren’t in his immediate orbit anymore. He’s well and truly _alone_ and learning how to be so. 

The only thing he didn’t account for coming into this was the realization he doesn’t _want_ to be alone anymore- misses having Neil in his life in some capacity, greedy for anything the striker would give him. He doesn’t want to ask for Neil to just run back to him, it isn’t his style even now, but he supposes he could always ask for Neil’s number again (despite the fact he has it memorized) after this. 

They settle back into their seats after a moment, and the director nods at them once they start rolling again. Neil pauses, seems to steel himself for a moment. “Andrew,” he starts, and Andrew hums, not totally convinced Neil isn’t going to ask something stupid and lighthearted to end it.

For once, Andrew is wrong with something concerning Neil, and it nearly makes him topple over in the chair he’s leaning precariously back in. 

“Yes or no?” Neil asks, voice just barely above a whisper. Andrew doesn’t even know if the microphone attached to his shirt collar picked it up, but to Andrew, Neil might as well have screamed. Andrew lowers his chair to the ground slowly, taking deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart. 

“What do you mean?” he replies, ignoring the rules of the game, the entire video and camera crew to his right. To _hell_ with the video if this is what Neil was going to ask. 

“I mean _yes_ or _no_ , Andrew,” Neil responds, voice still pitched low. Everyone in the studio is quiet, even though Andrew’s sure they can’t hear the conversation that’s going on right now and it’s going to make this section of the video unusable. 

Andrew swallows roughly, eyeing the pre-poured shot in front of him. He could take it- he _could_ , and it wouldn’t change things. They’d go out of this the same as they came in, go back to their lives and act like the other didn’t exist once again, only not able to ignore each other on the court. To Andrew, despite his feelings going into this, that sounds like the most miserable thing he’s ever heard. He doesn’t _want_ things to go back to how they were. He _wants_ to be a part of Neil’s life again, even if it means they’re just friends- even if it means they talk once a month for the next thirty years. Andrew will take what he can get if it means he gets _Neil_.

He looks up, looks at Neil, at the fire in his eyes and determination in the set of his shoulders and nods once. “Yes,” he says finally, and Neil nods in return. It’s a quick jerk of his head, but to Andrew, it’s everything.

The director seems to pick up on the conversation being over, and despite the fact Andrew’s sure it's unusable, the crew doesn't look annoyed about it. 

The crew suggests Neil asks one more question, and Andrew can tell they mean _one that isn’t unusable_. The director agrees, and Neil shrugs in acquiesce, pausing to think for a moment. Andrew takes that moment to study him, at the way he looks lighter than he did before, not as bogged down by everything that was _this_. Andrew doesn’t want to think it’s because of his response to _yes or no_ , but deep down he knows it is. 

“So, dinner?” Neil finally asks, smirk on his face. His voice is loud enough the microphone can pick it up this time and Andrew snorts without meaning to. Neil _beams_. 

“Sure, Josten,” Andrew responds easily, half skeptical that Neil is actually being serious.

The director is happy enough with that end, and makes one last suggestion- that they take one more shot (in “ _solidarity_ ”), and Andrew and Neil look to each other before shrugging. They pick up their shot glasses, clinking them for good measure, and downing the shots in one swift movement. Andrew tries his best to ignore his racing heart over the smile Neil sends him.

They’re wrapping up in the next moment, director calling cut and interns rushing to clean up before their allotted studio time is up. Andrew stands at the same time as Neil, eyes cataloging his every move like it’s the first time again- like they’re back in Arizona and Andrew’s only goal is to make sure Neil doesn’t run. Neil is different now, though- has been for a long time. Andrew doesn’t have to worry about him running anywhere but on the court and around the block anymore. 

Neil moves closer to Andrew’s side, the pair of them having migrated behind the cameras so the crew could break down the table that was set up.

“D’you need a ride?” Neil asks, head ducking low so he doesn’t have to speak loud around the hustle and bustle of the studio. 

“Were you serious about dinner?” Andrew asks, and raises an eyebrow when Neil scoffs.

“Kevin’s picking me up,” Neil says in lieu of an actual response, and Andrew takes that to mean “ _Kevin’s picking us up_ ” instead. Andrew just nods, rocking back on his heels and waiting for them to be sent off by the director. 

It doesn’t take long, and they’re standing outside no more than ten minutes later. The afternoon sun is beating down on them after it finally decided to make an appearance, and Andrew thinks it’s funny, how it was raining and miserable outside when he came and now it’s the exact opposite. He definitely _doesn’t_ think it's a result of them making up, not like Neil is probably thinking right now.

Neil’s hand brushes his where they’re standing, and Andrew looks down at their hands. It doesn’t seem like an accident, how close they are, and knowing Neil, it _definitely_ isn’t. Neil brushes his hand against Andrew’s again, and Andrew looks up to find a small smile gracing Neil’s features. Like he’s content, happy to be right where he is. Andrew wants to give him the _world_. 

He can’t _exactly_ give him that, but he can link his pinky with Neil’s and pretend he doesn’t see the absolute beaming smile on Neil’s face. He hides his own smile behind his hand, pretending to just rub over his mouth absentmindedly. By the look Neil shoots him, he knows he’s been caught, but he doesn’t really mind. 

Their pinkies stay locked even when Kevin pulls up to the curb, and Andrew goes to pull away to get in the back by himself, but Neil follows readily like it isn’t weird to leave Kevin alone in the front seat. Andrew cocks his head to the side in question but all he gets is a raised eyebrow in return, like Neil is challenging him to say something. Andrew stays silent with a shrug, getting in the car and flicking Kevin’s temple as he moves to his seat behind him. 

He ignores Kevin’s squawk of indignation in favor of linking his pinky back up with Neil’s once he’s settled as well. For the first time since he left Denver, he feels settled. It isn’t that being alone wasn’t great sometimes, but Andrew has found that he isn’t really one _for_ being alone. Bee would be proud of the realization if she knew he thought it, he thinks. 

Kevin pretends he isn’t _obviously_ staring at their joined hands in the rearview mirror, and asks a simple _“dinner?_ ” that has Neil squinting in suspicion. Andrew wants to laugh, but all he says is “If it's without you, Day,” that has Kevin gaping. He knows he’ll hear the ‘ _being rude to your best friend who’s helped you through a lot’_ speech later, but he doesn't really care. 

What he cares about _now_ is Neil’s hand in his, the soft hum of the pavement under the tires, and Neil’s idle humming along to the radio. The past couldn’t be changed, but at least Andrew knew things going forward could be different, and he knows he’s damn well going to try to make things better than they were before. 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://knadreil.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/byminyard)!


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